


Kiss, Trace, Kick the Can

by aishiteita



Category: VA-11 Hall-A (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishiteita/pseuds/aishiteita
Summary: Panama is beautiful, and Jill thinks it's high time she destroys it.
Relationships: Jill Stingray/Dana Zane
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Kiss, Trace, Kick the Can

**Author's Note:**

> hi i cant believe panama trip is canon  
> this is p much vent writing and so horrifically unbetaed... but i hope u enjoy it regardless !

**high wire, put me down (5:21 PM)**

The thing about belated grief is that it’s, well, late.

At least Jill feels as such. She has been processing Lenore’s loss for longer than she’s aware of, and by the time she comes down from the New Year party high (of said grief), she’s wrung out. There’s no more emotion to squeeze out of a rag she’s been twisting every which way she can for the past three years.

Now that there’s nothing left, Jill is desperate for _something._ The relief of scrounging up enough for rent at the very last minute leads her down a manic spiral of what she can only describe as _good feelings_ , and it was with those feelings that she said yes to Dana’s vacation offer. She said yes and started packing that evening, freaking out Gillian with her newfound zeal (or, as much as she could muster) when she asked him to cat-sit Fore (and her apartment, why not) for a whole week. She had not cleaned the place at all.

There’s nothing left, and that’s how Jill finds herself in her current predicament, red-faced and jittery from airplane coffee as she prays that Dana, fast asleep, can’t hear the _ba-thump ba-thump_ of her heart where she leans on Jill’s shoulder. If she does, she should understand that Jill’s heart hasn’t experienced any higher levels of activity beyond the peak hours of the bar and eviction anxiety. Right now, Jill is sitting with her back ramrod straight, feeling alive for the first time in a long while. Right now, Jill is entertaining thoughts of sleeping in the same bed with her boss. Former boss, she reminds herself.

(The room has double beds; Dana claims the one closer to the bathroom because _it’ll be easier for when I need to piss the night away_.)

So here is a new predicament: getting irrationally turned on while your (former) boss is taking her post-airport, pre-drinks shower. Jill doesn’t even try to ignore the tightening of her stomach, simultaneously thinking of whether or not they should splurge on the mini-refrigerator’s liquor as pregame while rubbing herself through the thick fabric of her jeans, sprawled on the hotel bed that smells like nothing. Dana starts singing in the shower, one of the bar jukebox’s tunes, and Jill remembers how Dana is capable of lifting her up with just one arm; not the prosthetic one, just muscle and bone and whatever else is in Dana. She almost wants to ask. Nanomachines? Will Dana die from them? Did she expunge herself of the blasted things?

The consistent crash of water on ceramic muffles the sound of Jill unzipping her jeans, fingers wandering further down to touch skin directly and find her entrance. She presses one finger in and crooks it, tightening around the slim digit as she comes quietly with her eyes clenched shut. The water stops and Jill heaves a heavy sigh.

“Your turn!” Dana announces, emerging out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Jill barely managed to zip up her jeans on time, wiping her wet hand against the side of the bed. She carefully drags a hand down her face to hide how flushed her cheeks are.

Jill comes again in the shower. Her desire doesn’t subside in the slightest.

**wait for the bomb to drop (8:03 PM)**

N1-RV Ann-A is a polished establishment, deserving of its own building next to the hotel compared to VA-11 HALL-A and its floors that constantly reeked of piss.

Dana had called her friend, Iris, much earlier to reserve bar seats for Jill and herself. Lighting makes no difference when their elbows are brushing, Jill uncomfortable on the opposite side of the counter with nowhere to hide but the neon blue drink before her.

“Not hungry?” Dana asks, aggressively spearing a piece of calamari with her fork.

Jill stares at her supposed portion of the appetizer with disinterest. “Not really, I guess. You can have it, boss.”

“Hey, not your boss anymore, remember?” Dana smiles brightly, bits of squid all over her teeth as she does so. “Just call me Dana. I’ve been telling you and Gil to since, like, _forever_.”

The name rolls off Jill’s tongue strangely when she whispers it to herself, and she doesn’t bother correcting her previous statement. Easier to scoot her drink closer by the coaster and take another greedy sip of it. It goes down with a burn and settles better without food to make her nauseous. Everything they order is on the house, or so Dana mentioned after talking to Iris, and Jill intends to abuse that pleasantry. She waves the bartender over for a Cobalt Velvet, _upsized, please_.

“Okay, you’re clearly just trying to get drunk,” Dana comments wryly.

And maybe Jill is. She doesn’t have work tomorrow or the day after and Cobalt Velvet is too expensive otherwise. “It’s my vacation too,” she replies.

“Well I ate too much calamari and you need some fresh air. Patio?”

Jill says yes (again, because all she does is say yes to Dana). The patio is empty save for a table of happily drunk, loud tourists, and Jill leans over the cool, metal railing. Below her, the hotel’s manmade cliffs stand unmoving against the waves of Panama’s now artificial sea. Dana sighs with contentment as she takes up as much space as she can with the span of her arms draped across the railing.

“Maybe I should just move here and work with Iris again,” Dana says.

Only the first half of the sentence catches Jill’s attention. “Really?”

“On second thought, no,” Dana quickly rectifies. “We stopped being business partners for a reason.”

Jill hums in what sounds like agreement, but it’s just relief. “VA-11 HALL-A’s shitty décor versus this place’s should be enough of a testament.”

Dana doesn’t say anything in turn, folding her arms and resting her head on them. She looks directly at Jill. A small grin stays put on her face.

“We’ve also stopped being business partners, in a sense.” Dana keeps her tone light when she asks, “So why have you been looking at me the entire evening?”

“Where else am I supposed to look?” Jill deflects, scolding herself after because the answer is too clear. She could be looking anywhere, everywhere; the sea is right underneath them, stretching on past the horizon and glittering under the moonlight. Panama is beautiful and Jill has been caught staring at her former boss turned crush the entire while.

“Y’know, Jill, I like you,” Dana confesses outright. She says it like it’s another passing comment on how clean Panama is or how the drinks are better than whatever BTC issues to VA-11 HALL-A. Not a single change in her expression. “I think you like me too.”

It’s incredibly cruel of Dana to confess right here, like this, when Jill is still far too sober and reminded of the nerve-wracking fact that Dana doesn’t settle. Ever.

So Jill gulps down her feelings, whatever they are, and rubs her fingertips together as she itches for a cigarette. “...I’d rather not have this conversation in public.”

“You mean you’re not drunk enough to have this conversation in public.”

“ _Dana_.”

The name completely erases Dana’s easy smile, and she straightens herself up, dropping her gaze away from Jill.

“Okay, okay,” Dana eventually says in mock surrender, hands waving in the air. “Shall we go back inside? It’s getting cold out here.”

**and i'm so tired (11:57 PM)**

Only after three upsized drinks and five more beers (on Jill’s part) does Dana call it a night. Jill kicks off her shoes and promptly collapses onto the bed, realizing too late that it’s Dana’s bed when the other woman laughs and sits on the edge, next to Jill’s head.

“How drunk are you, actually? I can never tell.”

“Just a little over tipsy,” Jill mumbles, rolling over to her side so that she doesn’t have to look at Dana.

“Still able to talk?” Dana asks this in her typical, noncommittal tone of voice. She always does that. It’s great when it doesn’t make Jill feel like she’s being handled with safety gloves.

“If you’re wondering to your earlier question, then I don’t know,” Jill replies. “As in, I don’t know if I can actually talk about that.”

“Why not?” Dana tells her rather than ask, because they both know each other well enough to know that Dana will keep pushing the topic anyway by leading Jill with her own input. She’s good at that. “Did you know that it made me super happy when I found out your phone wallpaper is a pic of us?”

“I didn’t,” Jill responds. The bed sinks behind her and she feels a hand on her shoulder, sending shivers down her spine. Dana wastes no time pushing Jill onto her back with only that one hand. It doesn’t matter too much, Jill thinks, her cheeks already flushed from the alcohol to be visibly embarrassed.

“I know you like me,” Dana says, “but I don’t think you should.”

Jill processes the words at least four times over in her head before the anger hits her. “That’s not for you to say,” she tells Dana coldly.

“I’m involved, so I think I’ve a say.” Dana runs her fingers through her hair. “Look, you just found out about Lenore like, weeks ago. I don’t think it’s real—”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Jill hisses, pulling Dana down onto the bed by the collar while she rises to straddle the other. Her eyes feel hot, like they’re burning, and the lump in her throat expands. “Fuck you, you can’t say that to me.”

“Jill, you’re drunk—”

“Who cares! Who cares if I’m doing this because I’m drunk or because my ex is _dead_!” Raising her voice hurts her parched throat further, but Jill ignores it because Dana is under her, for the first time ever, and she’s never prepared for this. She’s never prepared for the urge to kiss Dana, or for when Dana halts that kiss with the palm of her steel hand. It’s cold.

“I care,” Dana says quietly.

Jill stills, and Dana removes her hand when Jill relaxes, lowering her head in shame and caught-up fatigue. “If you care, you’d let me have this,” Jill starts. “The bar was the only good thing I had going in life after Lenore, and that’s gone.”

“You’re only gonna fuck yourself up further if I let you,” Dana chuckles, resigned. Her hands gently cup Jill’s face. “C’mon, the bar’s closed but I’m not going anywhere!”

“Yeah? Well you’re _always_ moving, and I never do, because I’m an idiot like that. I’m an idiot who _likes_ you, so please, let me have this.”

Jill seizes the moment by lunging forward, kissing Dana harshly with their teeth knocking into each other. Dana doesn’t fight back, because she knows when it’s futile, and they break off only to kiss again. And again. And again after. This is the most sedated Jill has ever seen Dana, almost pliant under her and barely moving. As if the person she’s kissing isn’t Dana after all.

When Jill finally pulls away, Dana’s breathing hard. Her spit-slicked lips are as red as the rest of her face is. “Did that hit the spot?” she asks innocuously.

“No,” Jill admits. She still feels restless and hollowed-out, coffee jitters teeming with the mortifying realization of having kissed Dana and the rumbling of a still-empty stomach.

Dana wordlessly pulls herself up from under Jill, crossing her legs so that they sit facing each other. “I may move outside of Glitch City, because it’s a disgusting place, not gonna lie,” she says softly, despite the snide comment. “But it doesn’t mean I’m _gone_ , Jill, it’s just a place. I can be away and still wait for you.”

“I forgot about Lenore,” Jill mumbles, still too nervous to look directly at Dana. “You’ll forget about me too.”

“And that’s not for you to say.”

It’s really not. Jill knows that Glitch City is a shitty place to live in, and she’s more than aware that she could move too, start anew somewhere and actually feel human again. Human enough to chase after Dana wherever she may be. Anything she can think of saying now is ultimately an excuse.

Arms extend out to pull Jill closer to Dana, metal cold against her back when Dana holds her. She can hear the machine’s whirring, hot where its cooling fan is located, right in the crook of Dana’s elbow.

“Can we forget this ever happened?” Jill asks, voice small. This close, Dana smells a little bit like fried batter, as she always does.

“We can’t,” Dana retorts, “but we can empty the minibar so that you’re drunk enough to sleep. How’s that?”

Until they get drunk enough to forget, move on, part ways. Jill doesn’t say any of this. She doesn’t want to ruin their vacation any more than she already has. The void in her head yawns as it grows big enough to swallow whatever fight is left within her.

“Sure,” Jill sighs.

**Author's Note:**

> <33 pls feel free to scream about dill (HAHA GET IT im sorry) here, or on my [twt](https://twitter.com/tinycpr) <3


End file.
